


Woven In My Soul

by LoverAwakened



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Season/Series 10, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angels, Blood, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Bottoming from the Top, Castiel in Panties, Character Death, Coercion, Crossdressing, Dark Character, Demon Dean, Demons, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dom Castiel, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Fading Grace, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Heaven, Hell, Hellhounds, Impala, Jealous Castiel, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, M/M, Manipulation, Men of Letters Bunker, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panty Kink, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Solitary Confinement, Stockholm Syndrome, Stolen Grace, Sub Dean, Sub Demon Dean, Top Castiel, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoverAwakened/pseuds/LoverAwakened
Summary: "Sammy, Let me go"Castiel and Sam Winchester have been searching for Dean for months, their only clue a single note in Dean's handwriting, left on his bed at the bunker where Dean's corpse had been laid. His corpse which was now missing. Crowley, self-proclaimed King of Hell was also MIA. Castiel is running out of time to find his friend, his stolen grace burning out, a fact which the angel has failed to mention to Sam. The two men have exhausted most of their resources, but Castiel would move Heaven and Hell to find Dean. Little does the angel know, his best friend may be closer than he realizes.





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel blinked in the darkness of his motel room at the Blue Rose Inn. His muscles ached, his body overheated and covered in sweat. Throwing the covers off, he rubbed the palms of his hands hard into his eyes trying to focus on the glaring red numbers of the alarm clock/radio on the cheap particle-board woodgrain nightstand.

2:00am.

Castiel wasn’t used to feeling like this; achy, sleep deprived, physically exhausted. As an angel, Castiel didn’t require human necessities such as sleep and food. But that was when an angel had their _own_ grace. Last year, Castiel had been captured by angels following Malachi and they had mistakenly thought that Castiel was in league with Metatron, the Scribe of Heaven. They thought Castiel would lead them to Metatron, who was the key to getting the angels back to Heaven.

He tried to explain to the other angels that he knew nothing of Metatron’s whereabouts or his plans for all the angels, that Metatron had tricked Castiel and used his grace as part of a spell to expel the angels from Heaven and that was why he was currently human. They didn’t believe him, though, and after they killed one of his sisters in front of him –an angel who went of their way to answer the prayer of a desperate human- Castiel had been brutally tortured and surely would have perished had he not lied to Theo, tricking the angel into uncuffing him, slicing the trusting angel’s throat with his angel blade and swallowing the grace that poured forth.

After the stolen grace had powered Castiel up, making him an angel again, and the wounds from his torture healed, Castiel placed a glowing palm on Theo’s forehead to expedite his death, the angel’s face shocked as he choked on his own blood. Which left Castiel in the predicament he’s in now. Over the past year, anytime Castiel has had to tap into the stolen grace, it has slowly burned away, instead of healing and replenishing like his own grace would have in Jimmy Novak’s body. Castiel had to stop using the grace to maintain Jimmy’s body –things such as temperature and sleep regulation. Normally, doing those things wouldn’t be a problem because it didn’t require much grace, but this stolen grace was poisoning him.

He was tired easily, he had frequent coughing fits, he had trouble traveling long distances. Soon his organs would begin shutting down one by one and it wouldn’t be long after that that Castiel would gasp his last breath. He wondered where angels went when they died. He’s actually died a few times himself, but he didn’t remember anything of it, just that Father had brought him back. One minute he felt the pain of death…then nothing…then he was back again. Castiel wondered, also, why Father kept bringing him back. Why was he special? Perhaps to make up for abandoning the angels in Heaven or perhaps an award for averting the apocalypse. He found it funny that no angel knew where angels go in death.

Sure, human souls went to Heaven or Hell, even monster souls went to purgatory when they died, but what of angels? What would happen to Castiel when the stolen grace finally burned out? Surely, his Father would not bring him back again.

As the angel pondered his fate, slipping into another coughing fit, the stench of sulfur crept into his nostrils making his stomach turn. He jerked up in bed, alert, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark; his eyesight –thanks to the fading grace- was barely as good as a human’s. Castiel flicked on the lamp on the nightstand casting a sickly yellow glow to the room. Scanning the room quickly for intruders, but finding none, the angel rolled out of bed and crept toward the rancid smell.

Castiel found the body slumped in the motel closet, its’ face arranged like a skeleton, eyes gouged out and skin pulled taut. The angel had no idea how the corpse got there, but Castiel knew who did it; skeletons in the closet, he always did have a twisted sense of humor.

Quickly pulling on his black dress slacks and shrugging out of the ratty blue bathrobe to pull on his white button down shirt, Castiel reached for his cell phone to alert Sam Winchester of the situation, when pain exploded in the back of Castiel’s head and sudden darkness enveloped the angel.

 

 

 

The angel’s head throbbed, eyes hurting from the harshness of light as he tried to blink away the darkness of unconsciousness. His bones ached, muscles tired, and he could feel the weak pulse of stolen grace grow dimmer. Droplets of sweat ran down his forehead and he tried to wipe his brow, only to find that his wrists were bound in metal cuffs, chains were attached to each cuff and his arms were strung up above his head. Castiel tried to summon his strength, pulling at the heavy metal chains, which did nothing but clank together loudly. _Well, this certainly isn’t good_.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

 _Damn it. Definitely not good._  

Dean stepped from the shadows of the abandoned warehouse, smirk firmly in place, black eyes glittering. He wore a cranberry colored shirt, the buttons open to reveal a tight black t-shirt underneath, jeans, and his work boots. Not a stitch of plaid in sight. Castiel a felt a pang of sadness at that. Although, the ex-hunter’s hair was a bit longer and gelled, which looked nice on him. Not that Castiel noticed or anything.

“So, heard you and my brother have been looking for me for months.” The demon grinned, the First Blade twirling in his right hand. “Well,” Dean chuckled, “here I am!”

“Yes, I can see that.” Castiel gritted through his teeth, still managing to roll his eyes despite the amount of pain the angel was in. The warehouse was cold and damp. His fading grace was doing nothing to protect his body from the elements. The scent of mold and mildew made Castiel’s stomach turn, but he kept his face angry. He couldn’t show the demon any sign of weakness or discomfort.

“Ho-ho, buddy. Who taught you how to sass?”

“You,” Castiel glared at the demon. “So, did you kidnap me and string me up to chat or…”

Dean laughed a full-bodied laugh, white teeth gleaming, canines sharp, looking very much like the predator he now was. “Wow, sassy pants. Clearly I’m a bad influence on you.” The angel scoffed at him. Dean’s features softened then, looking stoically at the angel in front of him. “Would you believe me if I said it was cuz I missed you, Cas?”

“Absolutely not.”

Dean grinned, twisted and evil. It made Castiel sick to see his friend looking so… so demonic. The demon stalked over to a tiny metal table set up near where the angel was chained. The tabletop was littered with all sorts of tools used for torture. Terrific. The demon laid down the First Blade on the table along side the tools and picked up an angel blade; Castiel’s angel blade.

“I don’t know why you guys are looking for me anyways. Told Sammy to let me go,” Dean chuckled darkly, “left a note and everything.” He winked, swiping the tip of the angel blade fast down the front of Castiel’s shirt causing it to fall open, buttons scattering across the concrete floor of the warehouse. The demon stood for a moment, black eyes receding, letting Castiel glimpse the green irises of the man he once knew; the man he pulled from Hell, his best friend, the man he…he cared deeply for.

“Dean, we can help you. We know how to cure demons now. Did you forget?”

“Purified blood, little Latin,” Dean shrugged, “I remember.”

“So, what? You just don’t care?” The angel spat.

Dean dragged the point of the angel blade along Castiel’s chest in nonsensical patterns, the metal cool against the angel’s flesh, scratching, but not breaking the skin.

“Damn it, Dean, we can fix this!”

“Cas, it’s not broken,” the demon mocked.

Castiel flinched. In his mind’s eye he saw a ring of holy fire, Dean turning back to look at him, crushed, betrayed. The reversal of those same words echoed from years ago haunted him. The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up, humor in the green orbs. The bastard was enjoying this. _Of course he is, he’s a demon now._

“We can fix you, Dean,” Castiel pleaded, “ _I_ can fix you.”

“You’re never gonna back down on this, are you?” The demon murmured, “Even if I begged?”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel hung his head.

“So am I.”

Castiel writhed in agony as Dean brought the blade across the angel’s chest, bright blue grace flaring at the cut from the blade before disappearing, leaving blood flowing from the open wound.

Flick.

Swish.

Another cut to his chest.

More blood.

Castiel screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean continues to torture Cas and in doing so, discovers a secret Cas has kept hidden since before he stole angel grace.

The next few hours the demon continued to torture Cas, the angel slipping in and out of consciousness from the incredible pain. Cas’ vibrant blue eyes were dulled, dark purple shadows painting the sunken skin beneath them. His once tan skin, now ashen, pale. It also looked like the angel had lost some weight since the last time Dean saw him. He stared at the angel. Blood poured from his nose were Dean had broken it. A sticky red trail came down from his right temple and down the side of his face over his jaw with more thick crimson matted in the angel’s dark hair. Cas’ chest was decorated with a smattering of bruises and cuts. Possibly a few broken ribs. Cas’ bottom lip was split and swollen. His left cheek sported a gnarly bruise from being continually backhanded when he had said things to piss the demon off.

Cas’ unconscious body hung limp, blood dripping into a puddle on the concrete between his feet. The angel had goosebumps along his skin and his nipples were in tight little peaks like he was cold. Cas shouldn’t be cold. The demon trailed his fingers up the angel’s body, thumb brushing across the nipple with the cute little freckle. Dean’s hand continued a path up the angel’s chest, over his collarbone and shoulder, fingers sneaking their way through the curls at the nape of Cas’ neck to cradle the back of his head. Cas groaned, the groan turning into a soft whimper as Dean’s other hand carefully brushed along the bruised cheek bone. Dean frowned, biting his lower lip. His grace should be healing him quicker than this. In fact, he looked like he was on the brink of death. Cas must be running extremely low on the stolen grace. Dean made a mental note to look into that. 

Dean didn’t want Cas to die. Not right away, anyway. Then he’d be bored again. The demon wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his new toy yet. One of the luxuries of being a demon was that Dean was freed of all the guilt that had weighed on his conscience when he was human. He didn’t feel the need to stick around and watch out for Sammy anymore; dude was a grown-ass man, Sasquatch could look out for his fuckin' self. Dean didn’t even feel guilt or remorse for torturing his best friend.

He did feel something. Some unnamed feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of the angel. He wasn’t actually lying earlier when he’d told Cas he’d missed him. Dean didn’t even know why it’s just…he hadn’t seen Cas in such a long time and…it’s not like hanging out with Crowley in karaoke bars all over the country hadn’t been a blast, but that got old fast. The King of Hell just grated on Dean’s nerves lately, and the demon was getting bored. Even sleeping with every easy chick he came across was getting repetitive and boring. If Dean’s being honest with himself, he’d been a little lonely, despite the fact that he was constantly surrounded by people. Demons. Whatever.

He looked back to the angel. He was coming to. Dean dropped his hands, backing away toward the table. The angel groaned, blood dripping from the split lip. All that pain, all that misery Cas was suffering and the angel was still as stubborn spitfire as ever. Kinda made Dean proud. Cas blinked a few times, straining to hold his eyes open, the whites threaded with bright red. The angel had a small coughing fit, wincing in pain as he tried to drag air into his lungs without disturbing the bruised, possibly broken ribs.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”

The angel, fully conscious now, shot Dean an unamused glance.

“So, what’s your plan, Dean?” Cas sighed. “Are you going to use me to bait Sam? Going to threaten him, tell him you’ll kill me if he doesn’t stop looking for you?”

Wow. That was pretty on the mark, there. Originally, that had been _exactly_ Dean’s plan. Kidnap and torture Cas, let Sam know he’d let the angel go free if they stopped trying to find him and cure him. Somewhere along the way, though, Dean’s plan had changed.

“Well, it’s not going to work.” Cas stared defiantly at the demon. “I-I’m dying. This grace… it’s burning out, in fact, it’s almost depleted. So, you can kill me now, or you can torture me and just wait for me to die. Either way, your plan’s not going to work. Sam will _never_ stop trying to save you.”

Dean arched an eyebrow at the angel, face smug. He could see the confusion in the angel’s features. Perhaps Cas was expecting him to be shocked or angry about this ‘new’ information.

“Go ahead. Kill me, Dean. I’m useless to you now,” Cas muttered.

“Useless,” The demon snorted, “I’m sure I’ll figure something to do with you, Sweetheart. Don’t insult my creativity.”

Dean picked up the bloodied angel blade from the table of tools, hearing a faint hitch of Cas’ breath in the background, putting a smile on his face. Thoughtful, he set the blade back down, turning to face the angel. Head tilted, Dean licked his lips seductively, making his way to the other. Cas flinched slightly as Dean reached his hand up threading fingers through the blood-matted hair at the back of Cas’ head.

“Do you need a break, Angel?”

He nuzzled his nose along Cas’ ear. Dean’s grip on Cas’ hair tightened, yanking the angel’s head back. The demon hadn’t touched Cas this way while the angel was conscious and Dean delighted in the battle he saw waging across Cas’ features, shifting between being frightened of the demon and welcoming Dean’s touch. The demon brought his other hand to the waistband of Cas’ slacks, deft fingers working to unbutton them. The angel’s eyes widened in shock as he tried, uselessly, to wriggle away from the demon, but the chains held him firmly in place.

“Dean!” he gasped, “What are you doing?!”

The demon ignored his question. As Dean eased the zipper down, he felt the angel’s body shudder. “Did you honestly think I didn’t know about your grace, Cas?” Dean continued nuzzling down Cas’ neck and shoulder, hand still gripping tightly to the dark hair of the angel’s head, prying a whimper out of that abused throat. Dean could see little fingerprint-shaped bruises along the column of Cas’ neck and a thrill went through the demon seeing his marks on the angel.    

“But…but—“

“Sweetheart, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” Blackness swallowed Dean’s eyes and he yanked harder on Cas’ hair earning a strangled moan. The demon froze. _Interesting._ He filed that piece of information away for later. Letting go of Cas’ hair, which, funnily enough, caused the angel to give a disappointed whimper, Dean hooked his fingers in the waistband of the angel’s slacks and, sinking slowly to his knees, pulled them down to Cas’ ankles, black eyes locking on blue the entire time. The fear in those blue orbs was intoxicating and he let his gaze drift lower.

 _Holy shit._ The demon froze again, sucking in a harsh breath and, embarrassingly, choked on his own saliva. In front of him was the most arousing thing he had ever seen. Panties. Cas was wearing fucking _panties._ Cas, bound and helpless, white shirt hanging open, and sitting on the angel’s hips was a pair of gorgeous white lace boy-shorts. Cas’ sharp hip bones looked damned lickable and the outline of the angel’s soft cock nestled in the white lace sent Dean’s blood rushing south so fast it made the demon dizzy. “Well, well. What do we have here?” Dean purred.

 

The angel looked down. Oh, great. In all the craziness with the mutilated corpse and being kidnapped by Dean, he had forgotten he was wearing panties under that ratty robe from the motel. Castiel was humiliated. The Winchesters were never supposed to find out about the angel’s fondness for women’s undergarments, especially not Dean.

“D-Dean, I…I can explain.” Castiel stuttered. He waited for harsh laughter that never came. Much to the angel’s surprise, Dean crawled forward, trailing a hand across the fabric of the panties almost reverently. Castiel felt his penis twitch and thicken.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean whispered, “You’re fucking beautiful in these.” Dean looked up at the angel, black demon eyes disappearing leaving a beautiful moss green flecked with gold and Castiel shivered. Dean had begun to mouth at the angel’s stiffening erection through the lace and Castiel did everything he could to keep noises of pleasure from escaping his throat.

“Dean! What-what are you doing?!” Castiel shrieked, earning a chuckle from the demon on his knees.

Dean looked up at him from under a fan of dark blonde lashes. “Whatever I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr [LoverAwakened](http://www.lover-awakened.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes Cas uncomfortable with sexual advances and the angel and demon have a chat about what kind of demon Dean really is.

“Dean! What-what are you doing?!” Castiel shrieked, earning a chuckle from the demon on his knees.

Dean looked up at him from under a fan of dark blonde lashes. “Whatever I want.” Dean murmured, sliding calloused hands up Castiel’s thickly muscled thighs to his hips, carefully moving the panties to the side.

Castiel’s erection was fully hard now, jutting out into the cool air of the warehouse and the angel cursed his body for betraying him. “No, Dean. Don’t do this.”

“I want you, Cas.” The demon purred, licking a long, broad stripe up the underside of Castiel’s shaft. The angel’s breath hitched, hips involuntarily snapping forward. “Do you like that, Cas, hmm? D’ya like me tasting you?” Dean asked, swirling his tongue around the sensitive head. Castiel couldn’t hold back his moan and Dean looked up at him, grinning. “That’s it, Angel. You’re allowed to enjoy things, you know.”

“No, this isn’t you, Dean! The Dean I know would nev—ah!” Castiel was cut off as the demon swallowed him down to the root.

“I _am_ the Dean you know,” he insisted, “I just don’t get hung up on all my crap anymore,” Dean swallowed the angel down again, cupping his scrotum, the demon moaned around Castiel’s erection, sending thrilling vibrations through the angel. “I’m finally free.”

This was wrong. But this felt amazing. So amazing. _No!_ This was wrong and terrible, _he_ was terrible. Guilt ate away at the angel. This was what Castiel had secretly always wanted, to have Dean like this; intimate, willing. The sensations were powerful. Overwhelming, but pleasurable. Oh, so pleasurable. Castiel _wanted_ this—oh, how he wanted this, _needed_ this.

Dean continued bobbing up and down his length, the wet heat of the demon’s mouth scorching, setting all Castiel’s nerves on fire—or maybe that was just the stolen grace fading. Either way, the angel didn’t want Dean to stop and for that, he was disgusted with himself. How could he do this to Dean? When Sam finally cured him, Dean was going to hate Castiel forever for allowing this. _Though, by then, I’ll be dead so, does it really matter,_ Castiel thought, darkly.

“Fuck, Cas. You taste so good.” Dean murmured. He looked up at Castiel, sucking him down again, eyes locked on the angel, and Castiel did everything he could not shoot down his friend’s throat at the sight of Dean’s soft pink lips stretched around him.

“No, no, no,” Castiel said, frantically, shaking his head as if that would make the demon stop, “this isn’t what you want, Dean. This isn’t _you!_ ”

Dean pulled off Cas with an obscene popping noise, slithering up the angel’s body. He cradled Cas’ head in both hands, mouths barely an inch apart. Dean felt the warm puffs of breath on his mouth, saw the angel’s pupils expand. Dean wanted this, wanted Cas. His whole life he spent being a good little soldier. Saving people. Hunting things. Dean was done.

“This is me, Angel.” Dean snarled, pulling a knife from his ankle holster and pressing the blade roughly to the angel’s throat, blue eyes wide with terror. Why wouldn’t Cas believe him? “I’m not Dean Winchester’s body, possessed by some demon who smoked in, in fact,” the demon chuckled, pressing the point of the knife a little deeper. A red drop of blood bloomed from the puncture. Dean had never been into blood play before but for some reason, he wanted to lick Cas clean. “I can’t smoke out of my own body or possess anyone. Wanna know why, Cas?” Dean yanked the angel’s head back forcing Cas to meet his eyes. “Because THIS IS ME!” he bellowed. Cas began to tremble in his hold, though, whether it was from being afraid of Dean or because of his fading grace, Dean wasn’t sure. “The Mark wouldn’t let me die, not really, so it twisted my soul into something demonic. It’s me, only supercharged and without a conscience.”

Dean pressed the tip of the blade into another spot on the angel’s neck. The blood dripping down was mesmerizing and the demon couldn’t help himself anymore. He traced the path of the blood with the tip of his tongue back up to the source, latching his mouth onto the puncture and sucking deeply. Dean moaned. _Holy shit_. This was amazing. Cas’ blood tasted fantastic. What was _in_ this shit? He was beginning to feel buzzed like he’d just smoked a joint or slammed several shots.

“Is it though?” the angel sighed.

“What?” Dean pulled back, confused.

“I remember what that’s like.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean frowned wiping at the blood smudging his mouth.

“Do you remember when I first met you?”

Dean thought back to that September day in the barn nearly a decade ago. Cas, really Castiel then because he had no humanity to him, strode into the barn after blowing open the doors with his power. Sparks literally flew as bulbs burst and showered down around them, Castiel strolled up to Dean and told him he was the one that ‘gripped him tight and raised him from perdition’, bright eyes blazing like blue fire and that I-just-got-fucked-six-ways-from-Sunday hair. Just thinking about it made Dean’s cock jump in his pants.

He cleared his throat, “Yeah, I remember.”

“If I remember correctly, you called me a ‘heartless son-of-a-bitch’ back in those days.”

“So?”

“But I wasn’t, was I?” Cas questioned, head tilted. “Sure it was deep, deep down in there, but I knew right from wrong. I may have had trouble putting a name to all the different things I started to feel, the different emotions, but they were there, Dean. Just like they are with you now.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel.” Dean spat.

Cas raised an eyebrow. Fuck he looked so hot like that. Even smeared with all that blood. “Oh, but I do, Dean. I’ve lived it. And if I, an angel, can develop emotions and a conscience, well then, you can too. In fact, it should be easier for you since you were human your entire life and are already familiar with a wide array of feelings.”

Dean sighed, shaking his head and put his hands on his hips. “The only thing I feel is happy. I eat what I want, fuck who I want, go where I want and answer to no one.”

The angel laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, Dean.”

“Fuck you!” The demon’s expression darkened, hands curling into fists.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Cas taunted, spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground.

Dean released the chains holding Cas’ arms above his head, the angel falling to the ground with a loud thud. Cas groaned in pain and tried to push himself up with his hands. Dean pulled back his leg and kicked the angel in the head as hard as he could, knocking him unconscious once again.

“Never know when to shut up do you, Cas?” He asked the unconscious body. “Freakin’ pain in my ass.”

Dean set out cleaning up his torture tools and putting them all way in their proper places, rolling the suede holder and tying it before putting it in his duffel. Even though Dean was a demon now and he’s been traveling with Crowley, he still carried his duffel he did when he was hunting, only now it has a few extra things in it. He wasn’t worried about Cas waking up, given how horrible he looked and the fact that Dean had kicked him wearing steel-toed boots, but even so, he filled a syringe with drugs to knock him out in case he did wake up on the trip. Can’t have a spastic angel in the backseat of Baby.

Normally Dean would have planned things out better, but up until he had kidnapped the angel, he hadn’t really planned on keeping him around. Once Sam agreed to stop looking for him, Dean would have given the hunter the address to the warehouse and leave Cas chained up until Sam got there and the demon would be long gone.

Things change, though, and Dean smiled as he looked down at the angel, _his angel_. His stomach twisted in knots when he realized that he didn’t want to be without the nerdy guy. Cas was good though. Cas was a hero. An Angel of the Lord. He’d never willingly choose to stay with Dean. Not now that he was a demon. Well, he’d just have to figure out a way to change the angel’s mind. Because he had Cas and Dean had no intentions of ever letting him go.

The first thing Castiel noticed was the leather. He was laying on some sort of leather surface, his entire body sticking to it. And he felt like whatever he was on was moving even though he himself was stationary. With that revelation, the angel’s eyes shot open. His clothes were missing. He tried to move to sit up but his progress was halted when he noticed his hands and ankles were bound with rope and he felt something heavy and metal around his neck. A horrible throbbing took up residence in the angel’s skull where the demon had kicked him and Castiel was actually quite surprised to still be alive.

He winced as he moved his head from side to side taking in his surroundings. Castiel’s vision was spotty at best, thanks to the pain exploding throughout his body from the hours of torture. Tan. Everything was tan. He blinked his eyes, taking a steady breath and looked around once more. Castiel was in the backseat of the Impala. The black leather of the seat stuck to his body as he once again tried to sit up, this time mindful of the rope binding his wrists behind his back and the bindings on his ankles. His skin stuck to the leather and he looked down noticing he was completely nude save for the white panties. Terrific. If he managed to escape from the Impala he’d be running around in women’s panties.

The sun was just up over the horizon. No one was on the road except the two of them. Trees whirred by out of the back window and the angel wondered where exactly they were. And where the demon planned on taking him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is dealing with the disappearance of his brother and Castiel is held prisoner by demon Dean.

 

 

 

Sam Winchester rubbed at the vein throbbing in his temple. He had copied the security footage of the attempted assault and subsequent murder from the cop at the police station. He clicked back and forth between two frames.

 

Green. Black.

 

Green. Black.

 

It had been months since his brother’s corpse had disappeared from Dean’s bedroom.

 

When Dean was killed, Sam had brought his brother’s body back to the bunker. Back home. The hunter downed a whole bottle of cheap whiskey and after vomiting the contents of his stomach all over the bathroom and himself, Sam decided to channel his anguish into trying to find a way to bring Dean back from death’s clutches. He’d done it before. No one died as much as the Winchester brothers did. They seemed to shake off death like a bad cold.

 

Sam’s first thought was to summon Crowley and force him to bring Dean back or make some kind of deal with the demon for his brother. Sam knew it was hypocritical, given that he always gave shit to Dean for trying to save him and even told Dean that if circumstances were reversed, and it was Dean doing the trials to shut the gates of Hell forever, Sam wouldn’t have saved him back in that church. He told his older brother he would have let him die. Sam’s stomach still turned at the guilt he felt from that conversation.

 

Gathering the ingredients and mixing them in a wide metal bowl, Sam struck the match and dropped it, igniting the bowl’s contents for the summoning and waited. He waited for hours. No Crowley. Thinking he had performed the summoning spell wrong in his grief, he cleared out the bowl and tried again. Nothing. Sam was fuming. Crowley was bound by certain laws. One being that were the demon summoned he _had_ to appear.

 

Sam walked back to Dean’s room to sit with his brother’s body while he hatched out a new plan. Talking to his brother and being near his pale and bloodied body caused him pain, but at the same time also calmed him down to be in his brother’s presence, dead or not. When Sam arrived at the bedroom he was shocked to find Dean’s body missing, a note left in its’ place.

 

 _Sammy Let me go_.

 

Sam sat in the library, continuing to flick back and forth between the two still frames, trying unsuccessfully to suppress the memories of his brother’s death and disappearance.

 

Green. Black.

 

Green. Black.

 

One shot of Dean normal. One shot of Dean with black eyes.

 

Of all the horrible scenarios the younger Winchester had imagined happened to Dean’s body, Crowley having the stones to stuff a demon in Dean’s corpse wasn’t one of them.  

 

Pulling out his phone, Sam dialed the King of Hell, who had been conveniently MIA since Dean’s disappearance. This wasn’t the first-time Sam had tried to call Crowley, but it _was_ the first time the demon answered, much to the younger Winchester’s surprise.

 

“Hello, Moose.”

 

It took a minute for Sam to realize that Crowley had actually answered, but pulled himself together quickly. “I know what you did you bastard!”

 

“Ah, and what is it I’m supposed to have done, darling?”

 

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me you goddamned son of a bitch,” he spat, “I know you have a demon parading around in my brother’s body, you sick fuck.” Sam growled, low and dangerous. “I will find you, asshole, and when I do I’m gonna kill you _dead_!”

 

“Pfft, don’t hurt yourself, Samantha,” Crowley huffed, “I did no such thing, by the way.”

 

Sam paled, bile churning violently in his gut as he let Crowley’s implication sink in. “What do you mean?” he mumbled.

 

“I mean, I don’t have one of my demons joy riding your brother.”

 

Sam felt dizzy. He slid down the wall slowly, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his head on them. “How can that be?” He asked, more to himself than to Crowley.

 

“Sorry to burst your bubble, princess, but that thing parading around _is_ your brother. Guess the Mark just wouldn’t let him go when he bit it and the rest, as they say, is history.” 

 

Sam shook his head. He didn’t want to believe it, but then again, the proof was on his laptop.

 

“No.” he mumbled.

 

“’fraid so, sweetheart.”

 

“No! Where is he, you demonic son of a bitch?” Sam demanded.

 

“Ouch, Sam, words hurt.”

 

“Fuck you!”

 

“Ah, have a go at the youngest Winchester? Then I’d have a matching set.”

 

Sam didn’t rise to the bait. He had no time for Crowley’s games. “Where’s my brother?!” The silence went on a minute too long for the hunter’s liking. “Damn it, Crowley!”

 

A pause.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Honestly, Sam, I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

 

Sam’s head perked up. “But you were with him before a few weeks ago?”

 

“Ah, yes, we had a lovely summer drinking and whoring our way around the country— “

 

“Ew.”

 

“—However, as soon as I told him fun was over and it was time to get down to business he up and left. I’ve actually had some of my men looking for him.”

 

Sam’s heart sank. “So you really don’t know where he is?”

 

“Sorry, Moose, I don’t. But if you or Feathers run into him, and survive, remind him that he has obligations to fulfil. He’ll know what I’m talking about.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes as he deadpanned, “Of course, Crowley, I’ll get right on that.” He hung up before the demon could get another word in, certain there was nothing else useful he could gain from Crowley.

 

So, Dean himself was a demon. As sick as that thought made the hunter feel, this might be good news. Sam raced to the storage room looking over the supplies. They knew how to cure demons now. This could work. It had to.

 

He pulled out his phone again and hit speed dial 2.

 

_This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail._

 

“Son of a bitch.” Glaring at the phone as if it personally offended him, Sam redialed.

 

_This is my voicemail—_

“C’mon, Cas, why aren’t you picking up?” Sam scrolled through his phone, trying to remember the last time he spoke with the angel. Their last call lasted… seven minutes…a week ago. Cas had followed a lead on Dean to Illinois, but he didn’t want to give Sam any details about it until he was certain it was Dean.

 

Sweat beaded on the hunter’s forehead as he dialed his friend one more time, Cas’ phone going straight to voicemail again. An overwhelming sense of doom settled over the hunter as he scrolled through his text messages, hoping in vain that Cas had sent him a text with his whereabouts and with all the stress of looking for his brother, he’d just missed it. No such luck. Cas’ last text had been a little over a week ago also, telling the hunter to take care of himself and get some sleep.

 

Sam ran his hands down his face and blew out a deep breath. He just needed a second to think, that’s all. Pacing up and down the length of the table he tried to think of where the angel might be.

 

GPS. Fuck. How could he be such an idiot? Maybe he did need more sleep. He’d just check the last known coordinates of Cas’ GPS to see where he was. Maybe he wasn’t answering because his phone died or something. Yeah. That had to be it.

 

Sam sat down and opened his laptop, a shiver running down his spine at the photo on the screen of demon Dean. Quickly exiting out of it, he typed in the information for Cas’ cell phone. A few minutes later, there was a red dot was blinking over the Blue Rose Motel in Peoria, Illinois.

 

Sam’s chest squeezed tight and he had to choke down the bitter bile rising in his throat. The Blue Rose was where he called from a week ago…and there was no way that Cas stayed there for the entire week without even contacting him.

 

Grabbing his ‘go-bag’ from the bottom of the staircase, Sam hopped behind the wheel of an old truck from the bunker’s garage, wheels spinning out, laptop open on the passenger seat so that he would be notified as soon as the angel’s phone turned back on. If he jumped on US-36 he could be in Peoria in a little less than nine hours.

 

Castiel lay prone, eyes closed, but at least he was conscious. The angel’s eyelids were heavy, like they were lined with lead, and after struggling for several minutes, he gave up trying to open them. He lay there trying to decipher his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was the pinch of a needle being pushed into his neck before the world slowly slipped into darkness. He couldn’t feel any motion, so Castiel assumed the Impala was either stopped. Either that or he wasn’t in the car any longer. There was no breeze against his skin and there were, other than the rise and fall of his own chest, no signs of life he could hear.

 

Finally, after what seemed like hours of struggling, Castiel’s eyes cooperated, opening to a dimly lit room. Fire burned along his nerves and fatigued muscles protested as Castiel attempted to sit up. A metal clank sounded just as his right wrist was pulled behind him.

 

He blinked slowly and winced through the pain, carefully twisting his torso to see what was holding him. He seemed to be cuffed to a large bed, made up with the bare minimum; two pillows, sheet, thin, stiff cotton comforter, all in an ugly gray. The metal cuff on his wrist had Enochian sigils etched into it, dampening his grace. Not that he could use his power in his current state anyway.

 

Scanning the room gave the angel mixed feelings. On the bright side, Dean hadn’t dumped his body in a ditch. Unfortunately, Castiel seemed to be held captive in a room with no windows and no door.

 

“What the hell…”

 

“Ding, ding, ding, what do we have for ‘em, Johnny?” Dean’s voice suddenly boomed in the quiet of the room, the demon appearing from nowhere, causing the angel to yelp in surprise.

 

“What?” Castiel asked, confused.

 

“Hell.”

 

Castiel stared at the former hunter, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what Dean was talking about.

 

“Hell. You’re in Hell.” Dean said, as though that should be obvious.

 

Castiel looked around the room once again. The walls were bare, painted a lighter gray than the ugly bed sheets, along the far wall there was a sink to wash up, but no mirror above it. A silver bedpan sat on the floor next to the sink. Castiel felt nauseous at the thought of having to use such an undignified thing. Just the thought of expelling waste in general was appalling to the angel, who was still not used to the constant need to urinate. Next to the bed stood a simple nightstand with a single drawer.

 

“Hell looks different than I remember from when I pulled you out.” Was all Castiel could think to say. He tried to keep calm as he assessed his prison.

 

No windows. No door. No glass or other sharp objects. _Damn it._ No way to defend himself and make a break for it.

 

“Not much, I know,” Dean shrugged, “But it’s tucked away in a corner of Hell demons don’t frequent and I put up wardings around the room so it’s practically invisible.” Dean grinned at Castiel, like a child expecting praise from a parent.

 

The angel cast a sideways glance. “Super,” he muttered, Dean’s face falling at the comment.

 

“Aw, c’mon, Cas! I’m the only one that can pop in and out of here. Nobody will disturb us.” The demon waggled his brows suggestively.

 

“Why did you bring me here, Dean?” Castiel sighed. He was still naked, save for the lace panties and he was shivering, but he didn’t want to let on that he was cold. The last thing Castiel wanted was for Dean to think he needed anything from the demon, even though, realistically, Castiel was, for now at least, totally dependent on the man.

 

“What, did you want me to leave you strung up in that abandoned warehouse?” Dean asked, incredulous. He frowned and anger sparked in his moss colored eyes.

 

“Well, no, but— “

 

“Ya know, Cas, you’re not being very grateful, I could have saved myself the trouble and just killed you.” Dean snarled.

 

“Grateful,” Castiel snapped, “There’s no door. No windows. I’m chained to a fucking bed!” He yanked his right arm, chain rattling.

 

“Yeah, well that’s cuz I can’t trust you not to try and escape. And if I let you off your angel leash, how do I know you won’t try to kill me.”

 

“I would never kill you, Dean,” Castiel frowned, voice quivering, “not if I can save you.”

 

“Damn it, I don’t need to be saved!” the demon bellowed, eyes flashing ebony.

 

Castiel flinched unconsciously at Dean’s tone. The demon’s face softened and he carded his fingers through the angel’s hair, shushing him.

 

Right now, Castiel had more questions than answers. _I just need to play along and appease the demon until I can figure a way out of this mess._ He coughed a deep, wet cough. A bright red splotch of blood decorated the back of his hand. _If I live that long._

Dean stood suddenly from the bed, either unaware of Castiel’s current health status or uncaring of it. “Whelp,” he said, clapping his hands together, “I have an errand to run so I’ll be back later.”

 

Blue eyes widened in terror. “What?! Y-you can’t… you’re just going to _leave_ me here?!” Castiel lurched forward in panic, momentarily forgetting he was chained as his arm was yanked behind him yet again. “I’m chained to the bed! What if I have to use the bathroom?” In his panic, the angel babbled anything he thought would get Dean to either stay or uncuff him. “I’m naked. And cold. My wrist hurts. Please,” he begged, “Please don’t leave me here!”

 

Dean looked at him a moment, seeming to contemplate the angel’s pleas. Then the demon smirked, “Don’t worry, Cas, no one can get to you in here and more importantly, you can’t get out.”

 

Castiel let out a defeated whimper.

 

“Oh, and your clothes were trashed from, well from all the torture,” Dean’s grin was menacing as he hungrily eyed the angel’s nearly naked form. “There’s a fresh set of clothes for you in the drawer and I put your hideous robe in there as well.”

 

“Be back soon,” Dean winked at Castiel, and then the demon vanished, leaving the horrified angel with nothing to do but lay back and wait for Dean’s return.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to track down Cas, meanwhile, locked away in a tiny corner in Hell, Cas waits for Dean's return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING please see end notes

Sam pulled up to the Blue Rose motel in Peoria in one of the more inconspicuous rides form the Bunker’s garage. His eyelids were heavy after driving nonstop all night and what he wanted was a solid nap. It didn’t look like he’d be getting it though.

 

Sam filled with dread when he saw the yellow police tape wrapped across one of the motel room doors; Room 12. His stomach dropped when, across the parking lot, he saw policemen gathered around a black body bag on a stretcher, getting ready to be loaded into the back of the coroner’s van, the van parked directly behind Cas’ 78 gold Lincoln Continental.

 

_It_ _’s just a coincidence, everything is fine._

 

Sam looked around the parking lot, assessing the situation. There was a man standing off to the side of the group of police, on the short side of average height, staring blankly at the motel door with the crime scene tape. He looked to be in his late 50’s –early 60’s with graying hair streaked through light brown at his temples. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he’d worn them all night, and the man hadn’t moved a muscle; the hustle and bustle of the police of the police and crime scene team around him making the man look even more statuesque.

 

Sam figured him for the motel’s manager. He grabbed his bag, slinging it over one shoulder, and made his way to the dazed man, hoping he looked tired enough to be a paying customer and not a Nosey Nelly looking for information. The man hadn’t noticed Sam walk up, still staring off in the distance. Sam cleared his throat.

 

“Um, excuse me?”

 

The man jerked at the sound of his voice, turning to Sam with a bewildered expression. “Oh, um, sorry. May I help you?”

 

“Are you the manager?”

 

The man nodded silently.

 

“Is, uh, is this place still open?” Sam gave a cursory glance at all the commotion, earnest eyes landing back on the manager.

 

“Yes, yes, I apologize. I’m Mr. Buckley, but you can just call me Vern.” Sam took Vern’s offered hand.

 

“So what happened here, Vern, if you don’t mind me asking.”

 

Vern paled before shaking his head. “It’s a shame. Been here a week; nice guy, quiet, kept to himself. I went to check on him when he missed check-out –see if he needed to book another night or more --and I found him…I found…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut against the images that would no doubt haunt his dreams for years to come.

 

Sam laid a gentle hand on Vern’s shoulder, trying to offer the man some semblance of comfort. He was used to seeing gore and violence on a regular basis, he’d become sort of desensitized to it, but Sam knew that most people weren’t, and he could sympathize.

 

“Why don’t you run into the office and have a seat?” Vern offered, “I got a fresh pot of coffee in there. Been givin’ coffee to the cops all morning. Went through about five pots already.” He smiled, but it was hollow.

 

“Thanks, Vern.”

 

“I’m just gonna talk to the policeman in charge and I’ll be right in. Shouldn’t be more than five minutes.”

 

Sam nodded, thanking the manager again and quickly made his way to the office. He didn’t have much time. Setting his bag down, he slipped behind the front desk, clicking the computer’s mouse, lighting up the screen. Sam pulled up the file for room 12. He’s pretty sure that was the room number where Cas had told him he was staying; the room with the police tape and a dead body. Bile churned violently in Sam’s gut, but he pushed away the negative thoughts. He needed to focus. _Cas_ needed him to focus. The file said an Eddie Moscone had checked into Room 12, paid in cash, upfront, for the entire week.

 

Glancing out the window, Sam saw Mr. Buckley headed back for the office. He hurriedly closed the tabs on the computer and snatched up his bag, nearly tripping over the legs of one of the chairs in the tiny waiting area. The bell jingled above the office door and Sam plastered on a fake smile. “I’d like a room for one night please, Vern.”

 

Sam watched as one by one the police cars left, praying that it wasn’t Cas in the body bag.

 

 

 

. . . . : : : : . . . .

 

 

 

The angel lay groaning on the bed, naked body covered with the ratty blue bathrobe Dean had left him. He was unsure why Dean had even left him clothing. Didn’t the demon realize he was cuffed to the stupid bed and therefor unable to get dressed? Castiel was certain he’d be able to get at least the pants on if he focused his energy, but the angel’s grace was too diminished and he didn’t want to make the effort. Just taking the white panties off that he was wearing exhausted him.

 

Cold shivers wracked his body. Castiel laid the blue robe over himself as a blanket and he tried to recall how long it had been since he last saw Dean. Time passed differently in Hell, so even though Castiel’s rumbling, painfully aching stomach and parched throat told the angel it had been several days, back on Earth it had probably been closer to an hour.

 

Would Sam realize he was missing?

 

He fell into another coughing fit, something that had been happening more and more frequently, blood splattering over the back of his hand when he pulled it away.

 

Castiel startled when Dean suddenly appeared in the room, clothing and hair ruffled. The look in his eye, menacing, chest rising with each huff of his breath. Castiel noted the deep gash on the left side of Dean’s forehead and a cut, still dripping blood, along his cheekbone. Blue eyes drifted to the demon’s fists, clenched at his sides, knuckles scraped and bloody. “What happened to you?” Castiel croaked, voice hoarse from several days of disuse.

 

“Nothin’.”

 

The angel arched his eyebrow, scanning over the demon’s disheveled appearance. “Yeah, sure looks like nothing. Are you okay?” Castiel’s voice softened, still concerned for his friends’ well-being.

 

“M’fine,” the demon snapped, narrowing his gaze.

 

Castiel snorted, “The blood dripping from your face accentuates just how _fine_ you are.” Dean growled, stalking up to the foot of Castiel’s bed. He decided to drop the subject. For now. “What will you do with my body once I’m dead?” Castiel asked instead, curious.

 

All traces of anger vanished from Dean’s face, the demon stumbling over his words. “W-wha-what do you mean, once you’re dead?”

 

The angel sighed, shoving the blue robe off his frail body causing Dean to wince. Castiel wasn’t sure why the reaction made him sad. He knew he looked horrible, like death warmed over, but a small, selfish part of the angel wished Dean found him attractive. “Each time a piece of this stolen grace fades away, it poisons my body a little more,” Castiel chuckled morosely, “A sort of revenge for its’ theft.”

 

Dean carefully sat on the bed beside the angel, Castiel taking comfort in the small gesture. “You’re not gonna die, Cas, you can’t,” Dean whispered, almost to himself. He looked at Castiel then, “I don’t want you to die.”

 

Castiel stared, unbelieving, into his beautiful green eyes. “What do you want?” The air between them was thick and heavy, electrified. Dean’s eyes continually dropped down to the angel’s lips, before making their way back up to his eyes. Castiel was afraid to move, didn’t want to break whatever spell was between them. Slowly, so slowly the angel almost didn’t catch it, Dean leaned into Castiel’s space. The demon hesitated before finally closing the distance.

 

It was chaste, the brush of Dean’s lips surprisingly soft, gentle. Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed as they continued to press tender kisses to each other’s lips. Perhaps Castiel had already died. Maybe angels do get their own heaven, and this was _his_ ; sharing soft kisses with the only being he’d ever loved. Dean.

 

Dean brought his bruised and bloodied hand to cradle the base of the angel’s skull, parting Castiel’s lips with his own and snaking his tongue into the angel’s mouth, the silky slide of his tongue caressing, teasing. Castiel moaned as Dean deepened the kiss, melting into the scorching heat of it. The soft tender kisses gave way to harsh bruising ones and Castiel felt like he was being eaten alive. Devoured. He arched his back, hands pressing into Dean, relishing in the feel of solid muscle beneath, then fisting his shirt, pulling him closer as Castiel surrendered himself to the kiss. “Dean,” Castiel breathed, like a whispered prayer, dipping his tongue once again into the wet heat of his friends’ mouth.

 

And then he pushed Dean away, plagued by another coughing fit, turning his head as to not cough blood and mucus all over his friend. The angel was so embarrassed. The cough refused to cease, Castiel blinking his eyes against the forming tears, desperately seeking out air to breathe.

 

Dean frowned, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. Castiel’s eyes widened in terror as the demon pulled out a vial swirling with glowing blue angel grace. _Stolen_ angel grace; Castiel already being able to identify that it was not his own grace in the glass vial. Suddenly everything clicked into place; Dean’s long absence, his injuries. “Dean, what have you done?”

 

“What I had to do,” the demon answered.

 

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Castiel mumbled, climbing backward on the bed, trying to put distance between himself and the offending vial.

 

“Yes, Cas. I told you, you ain’t dyin’ on me. Now, open up.” Dean said, holding the vial in his outstretched arm.

 

Castiel kicked at the demon with his remaining strength, but it was useless, the demon overpowered him. Dean lunged at Castiel, grabbing the angel’s ankles and pulling him down the bed. As Castiel lay sprawled out, Dean straddled his lap, holding Castiel down as the angel tried, and failed, to wiggle free. The vial glowed eerily in the demon’s hand and Castiel could feel the pulse of its power. He pulled against his chain, metal cuff digging into the skin of his wrist, trying to sit up, to buck Dean off him, anything; it was no use, the demon was too strong.

 

“Don’t fight me, Cas,” the demon taunted, “You know you need this. Just take it.”

 

“No, Dean, please! Stop! I don’t want this!” Castiel screamed, thrashing on the bed, head tossing side to side in an attempt to thwart Dean as the demon struggled to hold the angel still.

 

The demon stretched out, laying his entire body on top of Castiel so they were flush against one another, chest pressing down on chest, the angel’s shallow breath wheezing. Black, demonic eyes bore into Castiel, face twisted in rage. Keeping the vial in his left hand, the demon pinned Castiel’s uncuffed arm with his right elbow, slapping his right hand over Castiel’s nose.

 

Holding his breath for as long as he could, the angel finally submitted, opening his mouth, lungs burning for fresh oxygen. The demon used the opportunity, popping the lid off the top of the vial and brought it to the angel’s parted lips. Wisps of glowing blue rose from the vial seeking out its new owner.

 

Tears streaked hot down Castiel’s cheeks, having no choice but to swallow down the grace being forced on him. As soon as the last bit of grace was consumed, Castiel’s body lit up from the inside out; eyes glowing an ethereal blue.

 

The stolen grace began healing the damage done to Castiel’s body; both from the previous poisoned grace and from Dean’s torture several days prior. His cuts and bruises healed, once jaundiced skin now vibrant and healthy, weakened muscles now toned and strong. The new stolen grace had completely healed him; the countdown to an agonizing death, now, reset.

 

He looked at the demon, black eyes glittering, unnatural smile twisting his lips. The betrayal stung like a slap. How could Dean do this to him? “So, that’s where you were?” Castiel’s voice cold, hard, “Slitting the throat of one of my siblings?” Gone was the feeling of warmth and rightness when he and Dean were kissing, in its place darkness and uncertainty; a stone sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Hey! Those ass-clowns aren’t your family, “Dean snarled, “ _I_ _’m_ your family. Me! You’re a joke to them. Castiel: Heaven’s reject.”

 

The sound of Castiel slapping Dean echoed in the bare room; his emotions too raw, too close to the surface and Castiel couldn’t help the boil-over.

 

Dean wrapped a calloused hand around the angel’s throat, squeezing as he pinned Castiel back to the bed. “How dare you!” The demon growled, black eyes receding, leaving angry jade behind. “I am the one that cares about you, not them. They hate you and they hunt you and they call you a traitor.”

 

Castiel trembled, chest tightening and a lump formed in his throat that had nothing to do with Dean’s choke hold on him. “No,” he gasped, lack of oxygen starting to make his brain fuzzy. His newly acquired grace strained against the Enochian sigils of the cuff dampening his power.

 

“Yes. But don’t worry my sweet little fallen angel,” Dean leaned forward, releasing his hold on Castiel, licking a broad stripe up the side of his neck, “I’ll always take care of you.” The angel’s penis began to thicken, enjoying the feel of Dean’s tongue tasting him. Castiel was disgusted with himself. He knew Dean felt his stiffening erection pressing against him, if the smirk pressed into the side of the angel’s neck was anything to go by.

 

“Mmm, that’s right. I’ll always take care of you, Cas. You don’t need those winged dicks, you have me.” Dean sucked at Castiel’s pulse point, the angel unable to stop the moan spilling from his lips or the involuntary upward thrust of his hips, putting much needed friction on his erection. “Oh, angel,” Dean groaned, rolling his hips into Castiel before sinking his teeth into the junction between the angel’s neck and shoulder, tearing at the skin and lapping up the blood that pooled at the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Rape/Non-con elements
> 
> In the very last part of this chapter, Dean forces a vial of stolen grace on Castiel, and it very much mimics an attempted rape. If this will trigger you, please stop reading after the Dean/Cas kiss scene.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam isn't any closer to finding Dean. The demon has taken off, leaving Castiel on his own for days. When he finally goes back to see Cas, the angel decides he's done with Dean's games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been changed/updated PLEASE READ THEM
> 
> Warning: Explicit Sex Scene

Dean left Cas on his own for a few days to let the angel think about what he’d done. Cas should be grateful Dean’s taking care of him. If it wasn’t for him, that stupid angel would be dead already. But did he get a ‘thank you’?

 

 No.

 

He got a whiny, piss-baby angel, pouting about his so-called ‘family’.

 

Dean snorted, kicking a rock and continued to walk down the dark alley behind a seedy bar. Usually, by now, Dean would feel the burn of the Mark itching just beneath his skin, but the Mark had been relatively quiet the last few days. He wondered if it had something to do with how much of Cas’ blood he drank. Drinking angel blood wasn’t done, so who knows how Cas’ blood would affect the demon. Dean had no idea where the urge came from either. Thinking about licking or drinking anyone else’s blood was disgusting and made him cringe, but there was something about the zing of Cas’ blood.

 

He shook the thoughts off, rounding the corner of the alley where Little Tony’s Pizza & Subs was lit up like a beacon, the only thing open this late besides the bars; perks of being in a college town. Dean stood back from the counter. Little Tony’s had what most pizza places near a college campus had; pizza, calzones, subs, pita wraps, and salads. It had been days since he last saw Cas and Dean didn’t know how the stolen grace thing worked, but he figured he should bring something back for the angel in case he did need to eat.

 

He scanned the menu overhead trying to figure out what the hell the angel might like when he heard the indignant squawk of a young woman.

 

“What do you mean you don’t have any ready?” The woman at the counter popped her hip out, setting her hand on the delicate curve, other hand waving frantically in the air. “What the hell am I supposed to do for twenty-five minutes, just sit here?” She asked, incredulous. She turned around to stomp off, obviously annoyed that she would have to waste twenty-five minutes of her precious youth waiting for pizza to be made and nearly crashed into Dean. “Watch it—oh, sorry,” she giggled, “I didn’t see you there.”

 

She smiled at Dean, batting fake eyes lashes. She was a beautiful girl, although wearing too much makeup, with silky bottle-blonde hair that hung just past her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were clear of the influence of drugs and alcohol, although, for a college student, the night was still young. She was very obviously checking him out and he thought about the dark alley he just came from and gave her his one-thousand-watt smile.

 

“So, gorgeous, heard you got some time to kill.” She giggled again, linking her arm through his. The demon grinned, leading her out of the door and into the night.

 

  

….::::….

 

 

Castiel sat on the bed fiddling with the chain. The angel wore black slacks with no underwear, chest bare so he wouldn’t have to explain how he’d gotten a shirt on being cuffed to the bed. He used his renewed strength to snap the metal links from the Enochian wrist cuff, but no matter what he tried he couldn’t unlock the magical cuff that bound his grace. Castiel was bored and growing impatient. He was ‘climbing walls’ as Dean would say.

 

Absently, he rubbed his fingers over Dean’s fading bite mark on his neck. Thanks to the cuff on his wrist, it took an extraordinary amount of time to heal; days, weeks, he wasn’t sure anymore. And the demon had been gone the entire time, leaving Castiel to his solitary prison since Dean forced the stolen grace on him. The angel wasn’t sure why he cared. The demon had kidnapped and tortured him and killed one of his siblings. Still, Castiel found himself longing for gold-flecked green eyes.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean stood in the center of the room, a pizza box and bag of food in his hands.

 

Castiel’s heart swelled, but his face remained blank. “Hello, Dean.”

 

“Hiya, Cas.” Dean walked to the nightstand setting the food down. “Thought you might be hungry,” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno what you like, but there’s pepperoni pizza, a turkey and cheese sub, and a Greek pita…so…yeah.”

 

The corner of Castiel’s mouth lifted slightly. He was touched that Dean had been thinking about him. “Thank you, Dean. That was very kind of you.”

 

Dean preened under the praise.

 

The angel leaned over to investigate the food when his eyes caught sight of Dean’s collar; twisted with a faint red bruise peeking out from underneath. He scented the air, the stench of sex and cheap perfume assaulting his nose. Castiel recoiled, nostrils flaring.

 

“Dude, you ok—shit!”

 

In an instant Castiel was in the demon’s space, hands fisting the burgundy over-shirt as he bodily lifted Dean off the floor. “Where. Have. You. Been?” Castiel ground out between clenched teeth, rage burning blue fire behind his eyes.

 

“I see you got off your chain, sweetheart.” Dean said, ignoring the angel’s question. If he was concerned about the current situation, he didn’t show it.

 

“Where have you been?” Castiel repeated.

 

“Does it matter?” Dean asked, eyes going black, the demon’s lips twisting into a smirk. “Jealous?”

 

“Who was she, Dean?”

 

The demon threw his head back and laughed. “Who said it was a she?”

 

Castiel inhaled sharply, eyes wide. He growled, holding Dean with one hand. Balling up the other he punched the demon across the jaw before violently throwing him on the bed. Dean landed with a thud, sprawled on his back, still laughing even as blood dripped from the split skin of his jaw where it connected with the angel’s stone-like fist.

 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” The angel growled, crawling across the bed to straddle Dean’s thighs, and the demon was still laughing and Castiel was furious. “You think you can kidnap me.”

 

 Slap.

 

“Torture me.”

 

 Slap.

 

“Chain me up and leave me for days, weeks at a time!”

 

The angel snarled. Blood dripped from the demon’s mouth, toothy grin stained red from Castiel’s slaps. “Is this funny to you, Dean? You kiss me, tell me you don’t want me to die, put your mouth on my genitals and tell me that you want me, that you’ve always wanted me. Then you come here smelling of some whore?”

 

“Ok, first-of-all, I never pay for ass—she was a college student, not a whore. Second-of-all, you were the one who’s all ‘no, Dean, I can’t! You don’t really want this!’” The demon mocked in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

 

Castiel snapped and snarled like a feral beast, the Enochian sigils of the cuff glowing in an attempt to restrain the raw power of Castiel’s rage.

 

_Holy shit._

 

“Mine!”

 

“Ow, the fuck, Cas?!”

 

“Mine.” Castiel tore at the mark on Dean’s throat, scoring the flesh with his nails. Angry red welts beginning to rise over the bruise, Castiel’s eyes, manic. “No one gets to touch you but _me_.”

 

“Bring it on, angel.”

 

Castiel heard a faint click and then the Enochian cuff was open. Did Dean have a death wish? He stared at it, dumbfounded, before shaking it off his wrist, the metal making a loud _clang_ as it hit the floor.

 

Dean should be scared. He should be terrified. He just freed an angel. A recently powered up angel that he happened to have kidnapped and tortured. But all he felt as he looked up at Cas was aroused. The angel’s skin glowed white, eyes an electric blue, and he was growling low in his throat. Yeah, Dean should have been scared.

 

“You got me, Cas. Now what are you gonna do with me?” The demon taunted. His erection strained against his jeans, pleasure zinging up his spine with every minute shift of the angel’s hips.

 

Cas raised two fingers to Dean’s forehead, the demon winced, waiting for the freed angel to try and smite him.

 

Being a Knight of Hell, Dean wasn’t sure if Cas had the juice to ice his ass, but he guessed he was about to find out.

 

He didn’t.

 

As soon as the angel’s fingertips touched Dean’s head, a cool, tingling sensation swept through the demon. Cas had healed him. Not just of the chick’s hickeys on his neck, but all his scrapes and cuts also. A feeling stirred beneath his ribcage, but Dean didn’t want to look too closely at it.

 

Cas dove in for a punishing kiss, teeth biting at Dean’s lips, tongue plunging deep into the demon’s mouth. Dean tried to move his arms, quickly realizing his whole body was pinned in place by Cas’ grace.

 

He remembered being on Alistair’s rack—bound, immobile, screaming until he lost his voice as Alistair sliced into him. He’d hated it.

 

_The drag of the blade across his side was painful. Alastair had switched to a serrated knife, enjoying the way the blade tore into Dean’s flesh. The hunter held out as long as he could before letting out agonizing screams, eventually pleading with the demon to stop. Alastair never did._

_“Come on, Dean, don’t be shy. Let me hear those pretty little noises of yours.”_

_Dean wanted to respond with his usual snark; tell the demon torturing him_ bite me _or_ eat me _, but Dean knew that Alastair, the sick fuck, actually would, so Dean said nothing._

_Alastair tore into Dean day after day. He stripped Dean’s body away piece by piece until there was nothing left but an empty, bloody husk. Then, suddenly, Dean was whole and the torture began again. Alastair always came up with new and creative ways to break Dean down, not just physically, but mentally as well._

_“No one’s coming for you, ya know.” Alastair sneered. “I see that spark of hope in your eye, boy.” The demon grabbed a melon baller, roughly scooping out Dean’s left eyeball as the hunter wailed, pulling against his restraints on the rack._

_“Sammy’s glad you’re gone, Dean. You’re nothing but a burden to your family. That’s why everyone always leaves you, Dean-o. Sooner or later they all realize…you’re worthless.” The demon chuckled, taking a thick, curved, metal hook, ramming it into Dean’s anus. Dean opened his mouth on a soundless cry, Alastair having sliced through his vocal cords this time around, enjoying the sound of his own voice as he poked and prodded Dean’s mind._

_“No one’s coming,” Alastair repeated, “No one loves you. No one could_ ever _love you.”_

 

He’d never thought that being helpless, being under someone else’s complete control again, would be a turn on. With Cas, Dean had no problem surrendering control and being at the angel’s mercy. Here, beneath Cas, he was surprised to realize he felt safe.

 

Cas leaned down, breath hot against Dean’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you until you forget everything but my name, beloved.”

 

“Oh, fuck!”

 

Dean whined as Cas licked and kissed a path down his body; teeth scraped along Dean’s collar bone making the demon shiver. “Say-say it again, Cas.”

 

The angel quirked his brow. A wicked smile settled on his face as he looked at Dean with impossibly blue eyes. “Dean, my beloved,” he purred, dragging his tongue slowly along the demon’s lower lip.

 

Cas pressed open-mouthed kisses down the center of Dean’s abdomen, dipping his tongue in the demon’s navel before nibbling at the soft belly underneath.

 

“Cas, please.”

 

The angel stared, eyes hungry, as he teasingly undid Dean’s black jeans. Cas murmured his approval at Dean going commando, large cock springing free into the cool open air. Dean was so achingly hard, thick cock straining, pulsing, yearning for friction. Friction which was denied by the apparently sadistic angel, who leaned over Dean, turning his attention back to the demon’s nipples, arching his lower body back and away from Dean’s throbbing dick.

 

Dean sighed, frustrated.

 

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean snapped, “fucking touch my cock already!”

 

“You will get what I give you, when I decide to give it, my little cock-slut.”

 

Dean’s jaw dropped, a surprised squawk escaped his throat and his heart hammered in his ears as he stared at the angelic beauty above him. Cas’ eyes glowed like a beautiful blue fire; face twisted full of rage, jealousy, desire. Nervous anticipation danced in Dean’s stomach.

 

Cas pulled off Dean’s jeans, throwing the denim across the room. He placed a palm on Dean’s chest. Yellow tinted light glowed from beneath the skin of his hand and Dean’s body felt like some kind of liquid was quickly rushing over it.

 

“The hell was that?” Dean asked, alarmed.

 

“I just cleansed your body. I don’t want the scent or fluids from that whore on you. Not when you’re mine.” The angel tilted his head to the side. “You are mine, aren’t you, Dean?”

 

“Fuck,” Dean sighed, tipping his head back and rolling his hips, “Yeah, baby, all yours.”

 

“And you want me inside your body?” Cas questioned, slipping his pants off and seating himself in Dean’s lap, their erections softly pressing together. The demon hissed at the delightful friction.

 

“Mhmm, yeah, Cas. Want you buried in my tight hole,” Dean said, dazed. “Fill me up, angel.”

 

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Dean?” Cas slowly rocked his hips down and forward, taking both cocks in hand, sliding a loose fist up and down the length. An ache of want arrowed through Dean.

 

“Cas!” Dean trembled, needy for more. “Please, Cas. Make me yours.”

 

Suddenly, all contact with Cas’ body was gone. Dean tilted his head up, staring at the angel who was now kneeling beside him on the bed. Cas grabbed he rumpled sheet next to them, using it to tie Dean’s wrists to the headboard.

 

Dean’s eyebrow raised in question.

 

“I don’t want to exhaust my limited grace on keeping you in place.” Cas replied.

 

And Dean was completely on board with that. He pulled at the sheet, satisfied that it’s tight enough that it won’t come loose if he gets too excited, but not strong enough that his demonic strength couldn’t take care of it if this thing went sideways.

 

The angel looked down at Dean, pupils large, blue eyes darkened. His gaze flicked to Dean’s lips, stroking the lower lip with his thumb. Cas threw a leg over Dean so that he’s straddling the upper part of Dean’s chest. His cock is stiff, hovering inches above Dean’s face, the scent of ozone, musk, and a scent that’s purely _Cas,_ made the demon lust.

 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” Cas instructed.

 

Dean obeyed, arousal tugging low in his gut.

 

Cas carefully lowered himself so that his curiously hairless balls—he’ll have to ask Cas about that later—rest on his tongue.

 

“Lick,” Cas commands.

 

Dean flicks his tongue teasingly over one ball, then the other before sucking one into his mouth. Instantly, Cas pulled away leaving Dean to chase after his cock with his tongue. Pain shot through his scalp as Cas yanked his head back, a punishing grip on the demon’s hair.

 

“Did I say you could suck me yet?” Cas demanded.

 

_Fuck._

 

The angel had never been this dominant with Dean before, sexual or otherwise. It was fucking hot. Dean shook his head. The hand in his hair tightened.

 

“Use your words, Dean.” Cas growled.

 

“No, angel.”

 

“Disobey me again and I’ll punish you.”

 

“Yes, angel.”

 

“Good little cock-slut,” Cas smirked, “Now, lick me.”

 

He let go of Dean’s hair and lowered himself over Dean’s mouth again, who waited anxiously with his tongue out. Dean didn’t know where this change in Cas’ attitude about sex came from, but he liked it.

 

He flicked his tongue over Cas’ balls again, working his way up the angel’s considerable length, swirling his tongue around the head and resisting the urge to suck the tip in his mouth. Above him, Cas let out breathy little moans, blue eyes filled with want.

 

“Stay still and keep your tongue out.”

 

Cas began rocking on Dean’s face in earnest, the demon’s tongue running along the vein on the underside of the angel’s cock. His own neglected dick was throbbing, a combination of pleasure and pain. Cas cupped the sides of Dean’s head, grinding on the demon’s tongue faster, harder. Saliva poured from Dean’s open mouth, running down his chin and neck, the squelching noises of Cas’ spit-coated dick making Dean’s stomach flutter.

 

Cas panted above him and Dean wondered briefly if the angel was gonna blow his load before he got a chance to fuck him. “Please…”

 

Cas slowed, arching his brow. “Please, what, Dean?”

 

“Please…please fuck me, Cas.” Dean begged.

 

“We’ll get there,” Cas tsk’d. “Open wide.”

 

Cas shoved his cock all the way down Dean’s throat, not stopping until the whole thing was sheathed inside the wet heat of Dean’s mouth. Lucky for Dean, being a demon seemed to have nixed his gag reflex.

 

“You feel so good, Dean.” Cas moaned. With one hand bracing himself on the wall and the other fisting the front of Dean’s hair, Cas rocked his hips, fucking into Dean’s mouth. “Oh, Dean, yes! Just like that. Fuck!”

 

Dean moaned around a mouthful of Cas’ dick, rolling his own hips against the air, fluid leading steadily from the tip of his cock.

 

“Mm, does my little cock-slut like that?”

 

Dean answered with a groan.

 

“You like me stuffing your mouth full?”

 

Dean decided to use a little teeth, gently scraping the underside of Cas’ thick cock before swallowing a couple times and swirling his tongue around the head.

 

Cas groaned roughly, swearing under his breath. Dean could feel the angel’s body tremble.

 

Dean continued pulling against his bindings, moaning and writhing beneath the angel until Cas finally pulled out of the demon’s mouth and slid down Dean’s body, lining up their cocks. Dean’s breath hitched as Cas wrapped a tight fist around them both, the wetness from his own mouth on Cas’ dick now pressed up against his own as Cas stroked them together. The angel’s hand was surprisingly soft. Long, slender fingers working their shafts, giving a slight squeeze and twist on the upstroke.

 

Dean quickly lost whatever filter he had, mumbling, _Cas, you jerk me so good_ and _cock feels so good against mine, angel_ , along with a string of cuss words accompanied by debauched moans.

 

Cas’ eyes narrowed, a mischievous look on his face. “You are far too coherent.”

 

Dean whined at the loss of Cas’ body heat, but then the angel spread Dean’s legs apart and rolled him up by the backs of his thighs.

 

“What the hell—” Dean didn’t get out another word before the angel buried his face between Dean’s cheeks, swirling his tongue around Dean’s pucker and licking broad stripes over the fluttering hole.

 

“Castiel!” Dean roared, unable to contain the demonic tinge to his voice, obsidian swallowing his eyes.

 

“That’s more like it,” The angel growled, shoving the tip of his tongue into Dean’s entrance, whirling it around, loosening the tight ring of muscle. Quickly, Cas added two fingers alongside his tongue, fingers that felt warm and wet. Dean knew there wasn’t any lube in the room so Cas must have used his grace. A part of Dean was lost in the moment; Cas eating him out and stretching him with his fingers, but another part worried that Cas was gonna burn through this new grace too soon.

 

Then Cas started stroking Dean’s dick, fingers and tongue still working his ass open, and Dean decided he’d worry about those things later.

 

“Fuck, shit, Cas. Cas, Cas, Cas, yes, Cas!”

 

The angel’s smile was predatory as he sat back on his heels, giving himself a few quick strokes. With a wave of his hand, Cas undid the sheet binding Dean’s wrists. “Hold your knees back for me.” Cas spread Dean’s cheeks, the demon shivering at the feel of the blunt head of Cas’ cock nudging his puffy hole. Their eyes locked.

 

“Are you ready, beloved?”

 

Heat spread across Dean’s face. He nodded.

 

“Yeah, angel, I’m ready.”

 

Cas eased into Dean, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch and burn was painful, Cas was bigger than a few fingers, but it was nothing the demon couldn’t handle. Cas leaned down, licking his way into Dean’s mouth as the demon wrapped his legs around the angel, heels digging into Cas’ lower back, hands moving to grip Cas’ shoulders as the angel bottomed out.

 

“C’mon, man, move, I’m ready.”

 

Cas raised his head, glaring at Dean. “I told you, you get what I give you _when_ I decide to give it.”

 

Cas started to lean back. Dean was afraid that he’d screwed up and Cas wasn’t going to fuck him anymore. He panicked. “No, wait, I’m sorry. Cas, please.”

 

“I’m just adjusting, beloved, relax.” Cas smiled, grabbing Dean’s legs and putting them over his shoulders. Cas pulled his cock almost all the way out, thrusting hard back inside of Dean.

 

The demon yelped.

 

Cas kept his pace slow and steady, harshly slamming his cock into the demon, who was now whimpering. After a few minutes the angel picked up the pace, sitting up on his knees and pushing Dean’s knees all the way under his armpits.

 

Dean had a comment ready about not being that flexible, but his higher brain function seemed to be shutting down, the new angle allowing Cas to continuously nail his prostate.

 

Nothing existed outside of the bed they were on, and even that was quickly narrowing down to the pleasurable sensation of Cas spearing Dean’s ass. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to look at Cas’ face in the throes of passion, but it felt too good and so he squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught. His pleasure was plateauing, he just needed a little push to help get over that edge. Dean reached to grab his cock to stroke himself.

 

Cas snarled, smacking the demon’s hand away. “No, my little cock-slut! You come on my dick or not at all.”

 

Dean whined as Cas worked his hips at an inhuman pace. The pleasure intensified, the heat simmering and coiling around the base of Dean’s spine was now a boiling roar. This was it. He was going to die. Cas was literally going to fuck him to death.

 

Sparks of light burst behind his eyes. Dean could do nothing but mumble Castiel’s name, a white-hot fire burning through his veins, balls drawing up as Dean emptied himself with a roar, come painting his own chest. His ass convulsed around the angel’s cock, Cas leaning down to take Dean’s mouth in a deep kiss, the demon swallowing Cas’ moans as the angel chased his own release.

 

When it was over, they panted heavily into each other’s mouths. Cas rolled off Dean, sliding himself under Dean’s arm. They laid in silence, Dean gently running his hand up and down Cas’ arm, the angel tucking his head underneath Dean’s chin.

 

Dean told himself this was just sex. Rough, dirty sex. Nothing more.

 

Soon the gentle snore of the sleeping angel could be heard. If Cas was to the point where he needed sleep, he must have spent an extraordinary amount of grace already.

 

He needed to come up with a plan and quick. Dean wiggled carefully out of the angel’s embrace picking his clothes up that were tossed all over the room. He took one more look at Cas’ peaceful face. Dean picked up the Enochian cuff from the floor.

 

Cas stirred, blue eyes peeking out from beneath dark lashes. A look of hurt crossed his face as he took in the scene before him. “Dean?” Cas propped himself up on his elbow, pulling the sheet up over his hips. “Where are you going?”

 

The angel spied the cuff in Dean’s hand. “Are you going to bind my grace again?” His voice trembled.

 

Dean walked over to the nightstand. He opened the drawer and dropped the cuff in. He leaned over, kissing the angel on the forehead. “No, baby. I trust you. I’ll be back soon, okay, angel.” He grabbed the forgotten bag of food, tossing it next to Cas. “Gotta see a man about a dog.” The demon disappeared, leaving a confused Castiel lying naked on the bed.

  

 

….::::….

 

 

 

Crowley sat in his throne room rubbing his temples trying to stave off a headache as the three demons in front of him rattled off Hell’s latest statistics. He tried to listen, but the boring details rattled off in monotonous tones was hardly holding the King’s attention. Crowley’s mind kept drifting to Dean Winchester.

 

The former hunter turned demon was starting to become more trouble than he was worth. After Metatron had stabbed Dean through the chest with an angel’s blade while Dean bore the Mark of Cain, the hunter awoke to a new life. A life that was supposed to include being at Crowley’s side, as well as being his Head Henchman. The Mark had transformed Dean into a Knight of Hell; damn near indestructible, the only thing able to kill the Winchester being the First Blade.

 

Having someone at his side that powerful was supposed to be icing on the cake for Crowley. Now, however, it just seemed to be an enormous pain in his ass.

 

Crowley had indulged the new demon, taking him across the US; they drank, hustled pool, fornicated with some very beautiful men and women, and Dean sang karaoke to his demonic heart’s content. A couple months into their ‘honeymoon phase’, Crowley needed to get back to Hell business. His demons were getting restless, not to mention every single one of them hated Dean Winchester, and the last thing Crowley needed was a mutiny on his hands, led by some punk demon who thought he could do a better job running Hell than Crowley.

 

Kiss-ass Demon #2 was rattling on about soul contracts being down 4% from the same time last Earth year when Crowley’s phone rang. The King held up a finger, silencing the demon while he checked the caller ID.

 

 _Moose_.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Hello, Moose.”

 

The younger Winchester angrily demanded to know if Crowley had any more information on his brother’s whereabouts, rambling on about a dead body in a motel. Crowley had a witty retort on the tip of his tongue when Oriax, one of his demons in charge of overseeing Hell’s weapons vault, the Hellhound pen, and the ancient texts/artifacts vault, came bursting through the door of the throne room.

 

He was winded, which was quite a feat for a demon, his olive complected meat suit looking pale.

 

“Hold on, Sam.” Crowley put a hand over the phone, ignoring Sam’s loud protests. He frowned at the interruption.

 

“Pray tell, what is so important that you couldn’t wait the one hour until I was scheduled to meet with you, Oriax?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but this is urgent.”

 

The three statistical analyst demons glanced at one another, slowly backing away in fear of Crowley’s wrath. They knew if Oriax had interrupted their meeting with the King, the news was likely not good.

 

“It’s the Hellhounds, sir.”

 

Crowley sat up, Oriax having his full attention. “What about my hounds?”

 

Oriax lowered his eyes, droplets of sweat forming along the demon’s brow. “The demon guards at the pen were slaughtered, sir.” The demon gulped, reluctantly raising his eyes to meet Crowley’s. “Five hounds are missing, sir. I have demons sifting through the pen searching for clues as to who the culprit is.”

 

Crowley felt his blood boil. Rage burned in the demon’s chest. Someone _dared_ to sneak into Hell, kill his men and kidnap his precious pups?

 

“I’ll call you back, Moose, something’s come up.” He growled into the phone.

 

Crowley stood from the tall-backed chair he used as his throne, shoving his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t lash out and turn Oriax into a toad or something. Not yet, anyway. “Oriax,” Crowley spoke as if he were talking to a small child, “We are going to go to the Hellhound pen and on the way, you are going to tell me _exactly_ what you have done today, in great detail, and maybe, if you can find out who took my dogs, I won’t have you killed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr [LoverAwakened](http://www.lover-awakened.tumblr.com)


End file.
